


Strange Encounters

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-15
Updated: 2009-03-15
Packaged: 2019-01-19 15:02:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12412569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: [Fic Exchange '08] How can a 10-minute interaction in line with a stranger last forever in my memory?// James Potter, a Batty Old Man, and the age-old male issue of succumbing to the whims of a woman.





	Strange Encounters

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

He shuffled forward, hunched slightly to avoid detection. His shadow lengthened, and a chill cooled the air. Around him, others of his kind were in similar, suspicious-looking stances. Here, reputations could be ruined, eunuchs could be made, worlds could collapse...for they were in no man's land now, queuing in line to Madame Puddifoot's Tea Shop. James Potter, most of all, as the leader of the infamous, hoodlum, elite group of Marauders, could not risk exposure; but luckily, he, more than the others, had experience in the art of Stealth and Non-Discovery.

Thus, upon his messy head of hair, he wore a hat.

It was not a normal hat, but a very stylishly shifty trilby hat, one he imagined Lily's Sherlock Holmes wore. Maybe. He never paid much attention to her when she started extolling the detective's latest moment of genius. He'd much rather she aimed that kind of praise towards him, but not being able to fight duels in the halls or sneak out to the Forest after curfew anymore left him with few options to impress. So, here at Puddifoot's Pit of Hell he was, hoping to win points with the love of his life. Who didn't yet know he was the love of her life. Sadly.

"This is your first time, isn't it?" an amused voice sounded from behind him.

"Excuse me?" James turned around, baffled.

"Your first time compromising your manhood for the sake of your ladyfriend, I mean," chortled a shockingly happy old man. James wondered what potions he was taking. "The new ones always have this nervous twitch about them. I myself once wore that hat." 

James was fascinated. "It gives a bloke just that right dash of suave, doesn't it?"

"Indeed. But it also makes you stick out like a sore thumb." Now that was just offensive. James knew with utter conviction that the angle of the hat cast a shadow over his elusive hazel depths, and was all together very debonairly mysterious, and not at all sore thumb-y. He was the epitome of stealth, he was. Batty old man.

He glared at the BOM less contentedly than before. "You must be mistaken. I was informed by very reliable sources—" if you could call Sirius' guffaws and Peter's obsequiousness 'reliable opinions'—"that this hat puts me at the very height of Sherlock fashion."

The stranger blinked. "Sherlock?"

Batty old man. "He's a famous detective, you know. Like one of them lot from the Law Enforcement department who figure events out. Muggle," said James airily.

"I know who he is, you nutter. My wife's a Muggle-born, loves Sherlock Holmes like mad, but I'm pretty sure he wore a different hat."

He was horrified. Apparently he should've paid more attention to the covers. There was a beat of silence, then two, before he spoke. "So you're married?" he commented, changing the subject smoothly with only the slightest of chokes. "What's that like, then?"

"72 years of marital bliss in...April."

How mind-boggling.

"That's...wow, er...four of my lifetimes. How can you handle such...eternal commitment? Wouldn't you get bored with each other, or sick of her idiosyncrasies, or...or...lots of other things?" Like the sex? Even Zonko's bags of trickery had an expiry date.

"Of course we do," roared the batty old man in laughter. "There'll always be days when I'm in the guest room because we can't stand to be anywhere near each other, and the days when it seems like we've just run out of things to say to each other...but at the end of it, there's no one else I want to wake up to." The old man chuckled. "The secret to a successful marriage is to give in to your wife over the small things—" and here he raised a dusty pale-white eyebrow—"like subjecting yourself to this ridiculously poncy tea shop. You'll hate it, but it makes her happy, which is much more important, believe me. She'll let unwashed dishes and explosions in the garage slide. Oh, and keep a stash of blank anniversary and birthday cards in the drawer. And a standing order with Madame Flora's Shop of Blossoms."

James' eyes widened at the sound of this genius. "I've never thought of that! Shocking, really. It could have saved me from five different slaps on four different occasions. Brilliant tactics, old man; I commend you! Why-"

"Excuse me, sir; how can I help you?" a sugary voice prompted unexpectedly.

"Oh, er...Right. Reservation, I think. For Christmas Eve," James muttered. By the time he'd gotten himself sorted, the batty old man had gone.

\---

_January 30, 1980_

Sunlight streamed through the white shutters of the Potter house, illuminating the naked body of one rumpled Lily Potter and her singly-socked-but-otherwise-naked husband. Her eyes flickered open, a startling green, to the sight of James grinning down at her.

"Mornin', hon," he acknowledged.

"Why are you watching me in my sleep again, James Potter?"

"Because you're pretty."

She laughed. "Mm, want to go make me pancakes?"

He shook his head and pointed at the window, where a tawny owl was rapping its beak against the pane, flowers clutched in its talons. "First," James said, bending down to kiss her nose, "you should go get that." Lily was quickly up on her feet, scampering over to the animal and leaning out to grab the jumble of multi-coloured wildflowers.

"Oh, I adore you, lover," she crooned, burying her face in the bouquet, red hair spilling over her bare shoulder." I don't know how I was so lucky to get a man who remembers my birthday every year without fail, when all the other girls are left in the cold."

So it was her birthday.

"Happy Birthday, Lily," James smiled, and they tumbled back into the crimson sheets, giddy laughter ringing in the winter air.

_Thanks for that, batty old man._


End file.
